


resin

by aspiepatsy



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Benvolio de Sardet, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon, its more likely than you think, uh my purple prose ass using this as an opportunity to write in a pseudo-baroque style?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 20:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiepatsy/pseuds/aspiepatsy
Summary: De Sardet works on a personal project.





	resin

Morning spilt into noon, the finale of the sun's monotonous ascent met with the climatic chimes of New Serene. Heat dripped from between the sporadic clouds, their edges coiled around the sky, as tender and whispy as the manes of steeds of Helios. Much to the delight of the workers and Nauts milling around the docks, their bodies were absent of the swells of rain and moving through the air in the same manner as pools of curdled milk running through the grooves of a counter.

Hunched over his desk, Benvolio pressed the back of his hand against his nose to hold back a sneeze, blinking away tears as a light breeze tossed sawdust from the sculpture he was currently working on into his face. Looking up to avoid getting any in his eyes, he was rather surprised to see the sun already at its peak and he found himself having to squint at the glare from the windowpane. He'd been up with the birds, as had Aphra. She had only left the bed to fetch supplies from the docks but he found he couldn't sleep properly anymore if she was not by his side, as if his soul needed her presence to be at rest.

His hands moved with the precision of a surgeon, drawing the blades of his various tools over the wood with the care one would display when tending to the wound of a crying child. The bones in the back of his hands rippled under his skin, his veins a system of blue against his peach complexion, now bleached white by the vibrant daylight. As with all craftsman, even that small motion could be entrancing, like the still water of a marble pool disturbed by the fingertips of one trying to erase their reflection from its surface. 

The edges of his sleeves had fragments of wood caught on the fabric but he continued to work, despite the occasional sting or scratch against his skin. It was such a small thing, in the grand scheme of it all. Although the grand scheme had never been the sculpture, even that was small in a strange way, after all, an insect grows up thinking its nest is the only world that exists until something overturns the rock. That rock had overturned in Benvolio's life long ago, and his cruel punishment was that instead of simply catching a glimpse of the unrivalled expanse laid out before him before his life was snuffed out, he had been left writhing in the dirt and decay, inspected and mocked by the forces that be.

"Fuck!" An involuntary whisper left him as the blade of his knife caught the tender skin between his thumb and index finger, drawing blood, the bite yet another punishment for letting his thoughts wander.

Ordinarily, he would have stepped away and made sure it wasn't anything serious, but he found himself rooted to the chair. The initial shock gave way to a dull sting, and finally, the inexplicable awareness that he was bleeding. He brought the injured hand up to the sculpture, running his thumb over the features of the half-finished Ulg and his blood bloomed across the wood, a number of drops cascading through the divots between the carved fur before falling onto the desk. Raising the knife once more, he had barely sunk the edge into the wood before the door opened, causing his arm to jolt, embedding the knife in at the wrong angle.

"Kurt, for the love of all that is holy, I told you not to let anyone up(!)" Ben slumped back in his chair, staring at the wayward tool sticking out of his work.

"It's just me, sorry, I thought you were still asleep." Aphra's entrance into the room was as hurried as her apology, the door closing with a soft click behind her.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I'm a little on edge this morning." Turning his head to the side, Ben rested his chin against a closed fist, a lifeless smile managing its way across his features.

"You think?" Tossing her beret onto the bed, Aphra came up to the desk, one hand draped over the back of Benvolio's chair, the other resting on his shoulder. "I brought you some papaver and passionflower."

"Thank you, darling - I'll take them later if that's okay?" Benvolio conceded, unclenching his fist and letting his injured hand rest on his desk, slightly curled to hide the cut from Aphra.

"I'll put them in the cabinet for now, but please make sure you actually take them this time. Don't think I didn't notice the last delivery in the wastepaper basket." She chided, moving her hand to brush Ben's hair from his face, her lips tightening at the sight of his dark circles and crows eyes.

"You'll always be too smart for me." His brows lifted, his smile going from strained to content at the familiarity of her, the caverns of emotion behind her eyes, bronzite veins constantly tempting his heart, though his greed for precious things was far purer than some of his counterparts.

"Hmm." Aphra rolled her eyes, giving a noncommittal grunt. Bending down, she laid a tender kiss on Benvolio's forehead before stepping away, moving to her own desk at the farther end of the room, away from the intrusive light of the window. "There are fresh bandages in the cabinet, so clean that cut too when you're done." She added, opening one of her many, many notebooks with a lingering admonishing side glance in Ben's direction.

Looking back at his sculpture, Ben found himself staring at the mistake he'd made with all the resolution of a man being kicked when he's down. Prying the blade from the wood, he leant back in his chair, producing his modified bifocals from the top drawer. As always, they were a little too snug, and the third lens on the right side took slightly more force to click down into place, but it was a necessary evil if he was going to fix his carving.

And so, the two worked side by side, like they did almost every day, as the cogs of the world churned outside, the distant calls and bells of the docks dipped and peaked, caravan wheels clunked and rattled along the roads and guards sabatons pounded remnants of their path into the mud-caked gutters. When the time came for Benvolio to pour the saccharine dragon's blood, to suspend the poised predator in his vision of viciousness, he found himself thinking only of Aphra, of candied kisses and the mementos of adventure printed on her skin. While the resin began to pool in the divot of the creature's eye, like glistening, bittersweet tears, Benvolio stopped. He stood. He stared, and at last, he swiped the sculpture from the table, letting it fall into the wicker bin.

There were better things worth preserving.


End file.
